


Awkward Finishes

by vtforpedro



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Sexual Humor, Thorin and Bilbo cleaning up after sex, i don't honestly know where this came from, i don't write fanfiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 14:52:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7537072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vtforpedro/pseuds/vtforpedro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo, Thorin, not prepared for out-of-the-bedroom sex. Being the beans they are.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Awkward Finishes

Thorin’s nose brushed along Bilbo’s shoulder, hot breaths moving over slick, sweaty skin. His chest was pressed firmly against the shorter man’s back, one leg pressed between his slighter ones, crowding him against the counters. His tongue lightly flicked out and over Bilbo’s sweltering skin, tasting the salt and musk of their sex and something so _Bilbo_ that he let out a groan.

Kitchen sex. Thorin wasn’t sure how it began - as far as he was concerned, he was obediently slicing the tomatoes as Bilbo had asked him to do, most innocently. The shorter man had made some remarks along the lines of “ _doing it on purpose_ ” and “ _stop it or so help me-_ “ before quick hands had found themselves under his shirt and well… well, here they were. Between those moments were sloppy kisses, the awkward fumblings of trying a new position, skin against skin and those beautiful noises this _unfathomable_ creature was making below him.

They had ended up in the corner of the kitchen, Bilbo’s left knee on one counter and his hand gripping the breakfast bar for leverage, spread out obscenely with Thorin’s aid. After a moment of shifting and spreading and crowding they had found the way to make it work, and oh did it work.

 _But_ , Thorin lamented, as he pulled his head back, ignoring the damp strands of hair hanging across his face, there was a small problem.

They obviously hadn’t prepared much for this little rendezvous, the only thing that had broken through their foggy thoughts was to grab the lube and Thorin had made an impressively quick job of that.

Thorin realized how lucky they must have been throughout their time together as he could only remember one or two instances that they had to improvise a cleanup process with only what laid around them.

His eyes drifted to one side of the counter, to Bilbo’s left, before he swept his gaze right and ah, yes, there-

“ _Don’t you even think about it, Thorin Oakenshield._ ”

He started at the waspish tone, turning slowly to look at his lover, whose face he could only half see. He knew the look. Bilbo’s lips were pursed tight, his eyebrows in his hairline, eyes expectant and challenging.

“We are not using my mother’s doily to clean this- _this_ up. Absolutely not, so banish the thought from your mind immediately,” he continued, craning his neck to look at Thorin’s face more.

Thorin, whose brow was drawing down in confusion before it suddenly smoothed out, eyes beginning to twinkle in amusement, smirked. “We can wash-“

“No! We will not be using it and therefore there will be no need to wash it. They were my mother’s and we shan’t be soiling them like that,” Bilbo interrupted, waving one arm in a negative slice through the air that made them both wobble worryingly for a moment before he braced himself again.

“Shan’t?” Thorin asked, his lips quirked up but strained - obviously trying not to laugh. Bilbo scowled.

“Yes, yes, word choice aside, it won’t be happening. We can find something else. Surely a towel is nearby? No? Goodness, one of the few times I can’t rely on you to leave them lying about.”

Thorin gamely ignored that bait. “No towels. No paper towels. The only fabric around is that… doily.” He always had such an odd face when he said that word, like he had sucked on a lemon.

Bilbo frowned, looking quickly around the kitchen before he let out a gusty sigh, lips flapping. “Yes. Well. No.”

The man behind him didn’t bother hiding his eye-roll before he looked around in a foolish hope that a towel would suddenly present itself before them.

“The only thing for it, then. Best get your hand down there or it’ll be a mess.”

“What? Why does it have to be my hand- no, sorry, stupid question. Ahh… well yes, the only thing for it, then.”

Bilbo leaned his torso forward, getting a better position to hold himself up against the counter so he could slide his hand down to where they were still joined. To think it had been so beautiful a few moments ago. And his leg was already well past cramped, trembling as he lowered it off the counter to free himself of the pressure in his thigh and hip. 

“We should be better prepared for spontaneous kitchen sex.”

Thorin snorted. “I’m alarmingly close to slipping out of you. Ready?”

“Not really.”

“Flip a coin on who cleans this up?”

“I feel as if, it being a joint exercise, we should equally be responsible for the mess.”

“Are you ready? Bilbo-“

“Yes, yes- _ahh_ -“

Bilbo wrinkled his nose as Thorin very easily slipped out of him and not a moment too soon, as he was damn near completely soft. But Bilbo’s hands were ready and as gravity worked against him, he caught the mess that immediately followed his lover’s cock, wincing a bit at the slick warmth as he tried to keep it from slipping between his fingers.

“How much lube did you _use_?”

“Enough, obviously,” Thorin said, huffing and shaking his head a bit as he looked down and over the both of them. His cock was shining in the harsh kitchen light and he could see a small bit of wetness on the line between Bilbo’s hand and his ass cheek. Yes, enough.

“Can you please help me?” Bilbo asked. His tone was pointed and impatient. Those lips were pursed again. Thorin smirked.

“Give me a moment,” he said, taking two steps back in order to get a better look at the picture in front of him. Bilbo, huddled against the kitchen counters, one hand between his legs to cup the mess and making sure to avoid a bigger one. It was entirely awkward and charming.

Thorin turned before Bilbo’s patience wore thin, moving quickly across their apartment and into their bedroom. He snatched one of the hand towels they kept in the nightstand for just such an occasion before he trotted back into the kitchen to hand it over.

Bilbo took it with a soft hum of appreciation and Thorin backed away to lean against the opposite counter and watched him shuffle with the towel between his legs.

Honestly. He felt like a teenager again, all awkward first times and trying to erase every bit of evidence out of existence.

When Bilbo pulled the towel away and took a step back with a groan of relief as he was finally able to stretch his aching body out straight, he turned to find Thorin grinning at him. Then his grin turned into a laugh and it wasn’t one of his low, rusty chuckles or the silly huffs where he tried to hide them. No, this was a great and mighty _guffawing_. He was standing against the counter, arms crossed over his beautifully broad chest, naked as the day he was born, with his head thrown back and his Adam’s apple working with the laughs wracking through him.

Bilbo felt a flush over his neck and huffed, standing straighter before narrowing his eyes. “I blame this entirely on you,” he declared before holding the towel up in a deliberate fashion.

He nearly laughed himself when Thorin’s face shifted so comically from humor to fearful understanding in the blink of an eye. “You wouldn’t,” he breathed out, looking entirely unsure of that statement.

“I wouldn’t would I? I only have another moment to prove you wrong before this towel is all but useless to me and I think I’ll make the best of it,” Bilbo said, taking another step toward Thorin, whose lip turned up in distaste. Bilbo took another step forward.

Thorin groaned. “Alright, peace!” he said, holding up his hands in surrender. “You simply painted a… lovely picture-“

“A ridiculous picture, thanks to you, Thorin Oakenshield. As ridiculous as that name of yours,” Bilbo interrupted, sniffing.

Thorin scoffed. “ _Bilbo Baggins_ ,” he said petulantly and pointedly, looking very affronted at the unexpected and uncalled for jab indeed.

It was Bilbo’s turn to struggle with holding down laughter because _who the hell knew Thorin Oakenhield’s voice could pitch that high?_

“Baggins is a very respectable name, thank you, just like my mother’s doilies are _very respectable_ ,” Bilbo said, moving to cross his arms before he seemed to remember the towel he was barely clutching between two fingertips.

Thorin snorted and shook his head, eyes becoming warm and full of exasperation. “Come on, let’s clean ourselves.” He motioned with his chin toward the bathroom and Bilbo nodded, beginning to move forward.

“And no more silly suggestions of soiling my mother’s belongings with filth,” he said decisively as he passed Thorin, moving with such purpose that the taller man huffed another laugh. He moved his hand down and pinched Bilbo’s bottom as he followed him, more than pleased at the startled yelp it earned him.

But Bilbo, without looking, lashed his hand out behind him and Thorin had to freeze his movements with an undignified squawk, arms moving up instinctively to make up for the sudden stop in momentum. Mahal, Bilbo needed to watch where he was aiming lest Thorin end up in the fetal position and be completely useless for the rest of the night.

Heart beating quickly in his chest, Thorin grumbled about the near beheading under his breath, looking up as he began to follow Bilbo to the bathroom again. When his honey-brown head turned as he swooped through the door, Thorin caught sight of that turn of his lips, that cheeky smirk he knew so well-

“ _You_ ,” he managed, scowling. Of course. Bilbo’s hands were never out of his control, the little burglar, always so deft and sharp and _on point_. He always knew where to touch, how to touch, how slow or swift he should be - how tantalizing or how completely frustrating he should be. Wanted to be.

The door closed on him as he lunged for it, locking, and Thorin swore as he tugged at the knob. Bilbo was laughing rather maniacally on the other side, entirely too pleased with himself, and Thorin sighed. He leaned his head forward against the frame of the door and grinned just a little, to himself.

The world outside didn’t matter in their little apartment. His company which weighed so heavily on his shoulders and mind as he tried to bring it out of its shamed name, his family that he was trying so desperately to right… no, when he was with Bilbo here, none of it could reach him and he loved the man for it. When he had first laughed with him he had been so surprised at the noise from his own mouth that he realized he had forgotten the _sound_ and _feel_ of it. And wasn’t that just pathetic?

Bilbo brought him back to life. He brought them all back to life and Thorin knew he would continue to do so because he simply loved him - them - so much. He didn’t think he could ever express to the man that carried his heart just how much he meant to _him_ and how badly he ached just at the thought of him every day and how he wanted to give him _the world, to drape him in fine clothes and take him to romantic, obscure restaurants and on extravagant vacations, to show him off as the precious thing he was_ -

“Next time, I’m going to be bending you over the counter.” Bilbo’s voice cut through his ridiculously foolish thoughts - thank Mahal Bilbo couldn’t read his mind - and startled him. He paused to process what he had said for a moment before he chuckled.

“I’ll bring out the stool for you,” he murmured into the doorframe and was rewarded with an indignant scoff, followed by a soft ‘nng’ noise that always accompanied Bilbo when he made a rude hand gesture.

And then one of those hands shot through the opening door and grabbed his arm, quick as a thief, hauling him inside.

_Oh yes_ , in here, in their apartment, _this was all that mattered_. 

**Author's Note:**

> I have written two fics in all my life, this one and a Final Fantasy one like ten years ago. I do not write fanfiction where did this come from save me from myself. Forgive me if it's shit but it popped into my head and wouldn't go away. Based on, uh, past dalliances in my life. So clean and neat they were. Also, I've been obsessively reading Bagginshield for a while now and I love everything about this ship _save me_


End file.
